Our Lives
by IceCreamSandwich
Summary: All the employees of Sacred Heart find themselves shocked and overwhelmed when they have to deal with the unexpected death of a co-worker and friend.
1. My Good Day

* * *

**Hello to anyone who's reading!**

**Just so you know, this is set sometime in the fourth season when JD is still living with Turk and Carla.**

**

* * *

**

I knew today was going to be great from the second I woke up. There just seemed to be something... good hanging in the air.

"Hey, Carla!" I greeted my roommate cheerfully as I skipped out of the bathroom and over to the kitchen. I leaned over the counter and tried to find what smelled so good.

Carla narrowed her eyes accusingly. "Why are you so happy? Did you put ketchup in Turk's pants again?"

"No... Hey, are those muffins?" I reached out is hand to grab one, but Carla slapped it away.

"Careful, Bambi, those are hot," she warned me, just as her husband walked into the room in his green scrubs. Strangely enough, they did not seem to have ketchup in them.

Uh-oh. I must have gotten the wrong scrubs. Carla will kill me! But how was I supposed to know that Turk didn't wear pink? I mean, they were in his drawer and everything, so it's natural I'd assume...

"Hey, dude, what you thinking?" Turk dragged me from my thoughts.

"Not thinking about you in gay scrubs," I shouted involuntarily.

"Okay then," he replied shortly, apparently used to my random bursts of weird words by now. Then he turned to his wife. "And how are you, sweetness?"

"I'm great." She leaned up and gave him a small kiss before turning and walking towards the muffin pan. "Want a muffin?" she called behind her.

"Yes, baby, please."

I hate to be left out of anything, especially muffin eating. "Carla, what about me? I want a muffin."

"They're sugar-free," she informed me.

"I don't care. I want a muffin!"

"Don't you raise your voice at me." She paused, glaring at me for a second. I gave her my best hurt puppy eyes. "You can have one." No one can resist the puppy eyes! She turned to fish two plates out of the cabinet for me and Turk, but when she turned around, we were already stuffing our faces with the treats, crumbs falling from our mouths as we chewed.

I heard her mumble something to herself as she put the plates back up.

"Um, Carla," Turk started when he was almost finished chewing. "JD and I have got to go to work, but we'll meet you there later, right?"

"Well, Turk, I don't know. I assume JD is going to ride with you in the car, since your both going now, but that means the only way I'll be able to get there is by using his scooter, but there is no way I'm riding that thing!"

"She has a name, you know," I said, somewhat hurt. "Scooters have feelings too. I guess me and SCB are going on Sasha, right?"

"That or you're walking."

"I call front!" Turk shouted.

* * *

I was on the back of my own scooter, my arms wrapped around Turks waist so I wouldn't fall off. "Are we there yet?" I shouted to annoy Turk.

"What?" Turk yelled back. "I can't here you."

Since I was behind him, I heard Turk just fine. "I said, are we there yet!"

"Yes," he said as we came to a stop in front of the hospital.

I imagine that Turk is driving in a car with Carla in the seat next to him. A younger version of me is sitting in the back seat, sucking his thumb. "Daddy, are we there yet?" I ask.

I have obviously been lost in my daydream for a while, because I suddenly feel something pulling at my arms, and I realize that it's Turk, struggling to get up. "Uh, Vanilla, I love you and all, but we've got this kind of sitting hug thing going on..."

"What?" I mutter vaguely. "Oh, sorry, just trying not to fall off... I should probably let go now." I quickly removes my hands from his waist, and we both get up and walk towards the hospital. I still know it is going to be a great day.

When they get in the building, we see Elliot sitting by the nurses' station with a hand mirror and a giant poofy thing that seems to be covered in blusher. The nurses have all backed away, and random medical staffs have gathered at a safe distance to watch Elliot rub the thing against her face, creating a giant, and most likely toxic, cloud around her. She coughed uncontrollably for a second. Then, she saw Turk and me frozen in the doorway with morbid fascination, and waved them over like what she was doing was completely normal.

"I don't mean to be rude, but what the hell are you doing?" Turk shouted at her without coming any closer.

Elliot's voice was unnaturally high when she replied. She was talking to high for anyone but bats to hear her, and nobody in the room was a bat.

I visualize a bat with Elliot's head making a high pitched squeaking sound and a bat with my head covering it's ears.

"Will you shut up, you flying mammal?" I said. Everyone looked at me like I was nuts, even Elliot. "I've got to go." I walked around everybody and took the long way to the locker room, smiling the whole way because today is going to be great. I know nothing will be able to bring me down.

Dr. Cox was coming out of the break room, and I made the mistake of waving at him. When he saw me, he made a weird grunting noise and handed me a giant pile of charts before I even had a chance to say anything. I struggled to hold the charts up without letting Dr. Cox know how heavy they were for me. He then turned and walked back into the room and turned on the TV.

So, I have a lot of patients. It just means I get to help more people!

"Son, I'm going to need you to help me out." Dr. Kelso smiled warmly.

I looked at him warily. "How?"

"Well, I'm sure you know about Ms. Anderson in room 327? Nice lady... Tell her family why she died. Here's her chart."

You know why I'm still smiling? It's because not even telling Ms. Anderson's family that she died is going to make me unhappy! Not even if she died of... morphine overdose? Who the hell was her doctor?

"Doctor, doctor, doctor," I mumbled, running my finger up the page until it stopped on a name. "Dr. Murphy?" I said to myself.

I'm going to have to find Doug later, someone needs to kill him.

And I'm still happy, in case you're wondering. Nobody can bring me down today.

I was almost to the locker room, when a mop shot out in front of me and tripped me, effectively spewing all my charts across the floor along with my own body. I groaned as my head knocked against the floor painfully.

"Wet floor," Janitor said. "Got to be careful on wet floors." He then proceeded to mop my face.

That's no fair. I meant emotionally! Nobody can bring me down today emotionally.

* * *

A little while later, I was holding an ice pack on my head and standing by the nurse's station and talking to Elliot, who's skin was an strange shade of powder white.

"So, you want to grab some lunch? I've got a break in five minutes. No, four minutes."

"Sure, Elliot! I'll meet you in the cafeteria in ten minutes, okay?" I replied. I started walking away.

"Wait, JD! I meant like somewhere outside the hospital." She pointed towards her outfit, jeans and a white lab coat. "You know why I'm not wearing scrubs? Probably because every patient I've had today has pooped, peed, vomited, or coughed blood on every last pair I have! I need to get out of this place."

"I know what you mean. Ms. Anderson's daughter spit in my eye."

"Okay... I guess you can meet me outside, then."

"Hey, if you see Carla, tell her where we're going. She should have gotten here by now... We're taking your car, right?" I asked.

"Yeah, cause I am not going on that motorbike of yours."

Besides everyone's unjust prejudice against scooters, today has been going great for everyone. Dr. Cox asked me my opinion on a patient, Turk preformed a successful open-heart surgery, and Elliot... well, she got to wear a lab coat! It's only lunch time, but I think this is enough evidence to prove that my good-day-theory was indeed correct.

"Oh.My.God," a voice said from beside the door. It's Elliot, but her voice is strangely deep. "JD! Call 911!"

"Why, we're already at a hospital. Is somebody hurt?" I asked. When all Elliot did was whimper, I decided to go see what was wrong. I went to stand beside her and peer out the window. What I saw made my heart seem to stop beating.

No.

God no.

It was supposed to be a good day...

There was a guy with a gun.

No.

And it was pointed directly at Carla.

No no no no!

Please no. This is not happening. No.

And he pulls back the trigger.

NO!

**Please review. Please!**

**TBC...**


	2. My Worst Day

**Hello again! **

**Many thanks to all who reviewed!**

**Now, read chapter two, which is in Elliot's perspective.**

* * *

BEEP BEEP

BEEEEEEEEP

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

I really, really didn't want to get up this morning. It was one of those mornings when you feel like you'd be better off starving to death instead of just getting up for breakfast.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

But since I feel like this a lot, I had come up with a foolproof way to get myself to wake up.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

My alarm clock was halfway across the room, on my dresser, so I'd have to get out of my bed to get it, and that brings me back to what I really, rea-

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

-lly didn't want to do.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

I banged my head against the wall lightly and just stood there for a second before turning off the alarm. I shook my head to try and get myself to wake up a little more, but it didn't work at all. If anything, I felt more tired than before.

Well, it wouldn't hurt to skip most of my make-up today, would it? I don't think so... I shook my head again and headed towards the bathroom for a shower.

I got as far as my bedroom door when I decided to forgo any and all pointless beauty rituals in order to get some sleep.

* * *

So, that's why I was in the bathroom at the hospital putting my eyeliner on. I only got a few weird looks for that, but all the women in there (and there were a lot, for some reason) drew the line when I pulled out my giant case of blusher.

After being kicked out of the restrooms, I decided just to go to the locker room and put it on in there.

After being kicked out of the locker room before I even had a chance to put up my extremely heavy backpack in my locker, I dragged myself to the front desk.

"Lavern, do I look different to you?" I asked.

"You look like you've tanned," she replied. _Frick! _

The Todd suddenly came up to me. "Tan-five!"

"No, I will not tan five you because I have not tanned!"

"Prove it," Todd said.

"How?" I asked, only somewhat curious as to how I could prove it. But then I realized who I was talking to and that the next thing out of his mouth would probably be some version of, 'You could show me your boobies.'

"You could show me-" he started. Yay me, I was right.

"No, Todd. I have a better way to prove it." I reached into my backpack and pulled out my blusher. "I usually wear this."

"Prove it," Lavern butted in.

"Yeah, prove it."

"Okay," I sighed. I jumped up onto the counter and crossed my legs. "Does anyone have a hand mirror or something?"

This question was directed towards the audience of nurses with nothing better to do but watch me put on make-up, but it was the Todd who answered by handing me a small mirror.

"I do not want to know," I told him as I took the mirror. When I looked in, I realized just how much it looked like I had tanned. I grabbed the applicator and carefully rubbed it against my face.

Todd leaned toward Lavern. "That's hot, isn't it," he whispered in what only passed as a horrible attempt at flirting. She scooted her chair away pointedly, but Todd only saw this as an invitation to lean closer over the desk.

I was busy watching them, so I didn't see exactly how much blusher I had put on until I turned back to Todd's mirror. "Frick, Frick," I said under my breath. "Frick!" My entire face was the palest white, and looked like it belonged to a different person, maybe a ghost. I tried rubbing it away with my much darker hands, forgetting what I was holding. A cloud of the powder floated in the air, causing me to cough.

That's when JD and Turk walked in.

"What the hell are you doing?" Turk yelled, keeping his distance.

"I had to prove to these two idiots that I didn't tan!" I said in what I hope was a calm, steady voice.

Turk looked confused. JD accused me of being a flying mammal. They both walked away trying not to laugh.

I knew right then it was going to be the worst day ever.

* * *

For some reason, JD was holding an ice pack on his head. He looked like he needs to get out of this place as much as I needed to, so I asked him if he wanted to go out to get some lunch.

He agreed. I was about to go outside, because, guess what? It _was _one of the worst days ever and I couldn't stand to be in this horrible place for one more second.

Just as I was about to make my escape, the worst thing that could happen did happen.

You know the saying 'prepare for the worst and you'll never be surprised'? I'm just wondering, but what in the world could have prepared me for that moment?

Not meeting Carla?

Having my own gun?

A bulletproof vest?

Giving Carla a bulletproof vest?

None of the above?

I'm going with the last one, although the bulletproof vest might have worked... No, she wouldn't have worn it.

Cause I'm pretty sure this surprised her, too.

I yelled in what I'm pretty sure was my squeakiest voice ever, "Oh my god! JD! Call 911!"

Stupid JD didn't do what I told him to, not that it would have made a difference either way. He just wandered over, in slow motion, it seemed. "Why, we're already at a hospital. Is somebody hurt?" Clueless JD, would I have told you to do that if I didn't mean it?

He slowly looked over my shoulder. I could swear I heard his heart skip a beat. Or maybe mine did, I don't know.

All I know is that Carla was shot. Right in front of us. And the man that did it, he just walked away. Like nothing was wrong.

But everything is wrong now.

* * *

"Hello, Mr. Supply closet! Did you miss me?" I closed the door to the closet and sat on a conveniently overturned bucket that was probably put there by the newest batch of interns.

Oh, who am I kidding? I put it there.

It was over a year ago, though. I also grabbed the tissues from behind the cleaning supplies the janitor claims he uses, five unlabeled bottles and a yellow mop with a red ribbon barely hanging on to it. I wondered for a second why he doesn't use that mop, it was so much nicer than the one he was using.

_Remember Carla?_ A voice in my head asked.

"It's nothing," I said aloud, wiping at my tear covered face.

_You know it's something._

"Shut up."

The voice went silent.

The bullet probably just went into her arm, I didn't really see where it went... when I finally get out of this closet, Carla's just going to have a bandage on her arm. She'll wonder why it took so long for me to come see her. She'll be back at work within the week!

_Then why didn't the guy shoot again if he missed_

"I said shut up."

The voice left again, and I realized what I was doing: talking to myself in an empty closet. I'll never stop becoming more and more like my mother, will I?

I suddenly hear the door creak open. "Dr. Reid?" Stacie, one of my interns, asked. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, Stacie. I was... just leaving." I got up and placed the tissues back on the shelf. It didn't look right, so I moved it a little to the left. Then to the right. I pushed it back a little. Scooted it forward. Over left some more.

"Dr. Reid, it's okay. I know about your friend. Carla, right?" Stacie said. "We, well, I just came to check on you. The janitor told me to, and he can be pretty scary with that mop."

I was sort of glad for that; I didn't really want to leave the closet quite so soon. "Thanks." She started to close the door. "Wait."

"What?" She hesitated with only her head sticking in the small room.

"How is she?"

"I don't know. The janitor said she's in room 210 if you want to check on her," she replied.

"Thanks. Goodbye." I grabbed tissue and tied it into a knot around another one.

She disappeared behind the door. I decided to try to do the same.

I stepped forward and turned the knob. I took a deep breath to prepare myself, and stepped out into the hallway.

I don't know what I thought would be out there. A big sign declaring 'Carla's been shot, all events postponed until further notice'? Probably not. A bunch of crying people? Maybe. Everything going on normally? It doesn't really matter how likely I thought that was because that was what was happening. That's when I realized really how unimportant Carla was, how little would change around here when she was gone.

I meant if. _If_ she was gone

Carla's not going anywhere. Right?

* * *

I hurtled myself back into the supply closet, ignoring Janitor, who was frantically mopping the whole room with the yellow mop I noticed in there earlier. I sat down on the bucket again and grabbed my tissue box. I used three tissues right away.

I tried, but I couldn't get the image of Carla's lifeless body out of my mind, all the machines hooked up to her, whirring, buzzing, beeping.

She looked just like a patient. I had seen people in her condition before so what was bothering me?

_It was Carla_

"Thank you, voice," I mumbled to the room. The janitor (I forgot he was there) glanced at me but didn't say anything. He was to busy mopping.

_You aren't used to seeing her like that._

That wasn't it, I knew, no matter how much since it made. I had imagined everyone close to me in her place thousands of times before, wondering what I would do if something were to happen to them. I just never thought anything would happen to Carla. She was so solid... strong...

_You don't want to see her like that. You don't want her to_ _be so weak. She's supposed to be the strong one. You __nev__er expected this._

"Thank you, voice," I said again, and this time I was partway serious. Janitor seemed to understand. He didn't look at me, just sat on the floor next to me, still mopping the rather wet floor with the yellow mop.

We were quiet awhile, mopping and crying.

"Is Pretty Nurse going to be okay?" he finally asked in the general direction of the mop.

If someone were to ask me this a moment before he did, I would have said it wasn't true. This all seemed like some kind of dream before I said that one word: "No."

And even though he didn't say anything, I knew he understood.

**This turned out radically different than what I origanally wrote, but I think it'll work.**

**Maybe.**

**Just in case you didn't get it, the yellow mop was supposed to be the one JD gave him... **

**Remember, I like reviews, cats, and ice cream.**


	3. My Pager of Doom

**Greetings, readers! And welcome to chapter three.**

**I want to take a moment to thank all my reveiwers. THANK YOU, REVIEWERS!! **

**Just a quick heads up: _italics _mean pager messages. And this chapter is in Dr. Cox's POV.

* * *

**

_Dr. Cox, we need you to come in today after all._

I winced as I read the words on the small screen. I really didn't feel like going into work today, but I didn't feel like getting fired either, so I reluctantly pulled myself off the couch and away from any hope of having a good day.

Jordan had taken Jack, um, somewhere, and they weren't going to get home until that afternoon, giving me the whole apartment to myself. But, like I said before, I had to kiss that wonderful day goodbye, instead going to the horrible place I like to refer to as hell.

While I was walking up the steps, I ran into Kelso. He was eating a croissant so big he would probably be dead by the time he finished it. "Hey, Bobo, why'd you page me?" I asked.

"Mumphshculofhjsxn," he mumbled his mouth full of croissant.

"Okay, you might want to finish that walrus of a bite first."

He swallowed. "We have a lot of patients today."

"Did it occur to you that maybe you could be in there, I don't know, doing your job, instead of eating? See, then you wouldn't have had to page me, because everything you want me to do would all ready be done, and not just done, but done by you," I said.

He glared at me. "Perry, did it occur to you that I'm the boss and I'll do whatever the hell I want? Now get to work." He violently ripped a piece of croissant off with his teeth and dramatically stomped away into the building.

The second I walked through the doors, a nurse came up to me with at least twenty charts. "These," she told me, dumping them into my arms. "Are yours."

I really hate this place.

I whistled, and a bunch of my interns immediately showed up. "Now, everyone," I started, holding up a few charts. "I have these patients, here, see them? I need you to treat them for me." I tossed a chart to each of the five interns present like a frisbee and watched as they clattered to the floor. The charts, not the interns. "Now go, do your jobs." Just as quickly as they had come, the interns scurried away.

Resisting the sudden urge to throw the sixteen charts I was still holding at unsuspecting people, I went to go see my first patient.

* * *

_Room 210_

I was immediately up and racing down the hall after reading the message. It had been a rather slow day so far, for me at least, as far as patients go, seeing as I was able to pawn them off to interns and Newbie, who was simply in the right place at the right time. Unfortunately, there was paperwork galore.

But, out of the patients I did have, there was one in particular that I liked: Ms. Anderson. She wasn't really one of my patients, just a resident's who was known for killing people. And you'll never guess what room she was in. Yes, that's right, 210.

When I got there, they were already pulling the sheet over her head. Did I mention that I hate this place?

I leaned against the doorway and watched as they wheeled her by me and out of the room, then walked over to the window and stared down at the parking lot. I wondered where Carla was, she was supposed to have a shift today.

Just as I thought that, I saw her car pulling into the lot. Deciding to go back to the break room, I pulled the windows closed and walked out of the room and into the strangely quiet hallway.

A few seconds later, I heard a loud noise, like a gunshot, coming from direction of the parking lot, but I didn't really think anything of it.

* * *

_Emergcy roomm_

That didn't really make sense. I turned back to watching TV, propping my feet up on the table.

_Cara bee so_

That made even less sense, and I was getting annoyed. Who dares to interrupt my TV time with pointless messages?

_What do you want?_ I paged. I wanted to say something longer and much more threatening, but the miniature keypads are to hard to operate.

It was a few seconds before they replied, _Carla was shot. Get your ass down here!_

I dropped the pager. What the hell?

_I will kill you if this is a joke_

_Ass, ER, NOW!_ I could literally see the anger in the black typed letters, making me wonder exactly who I was talking to. Whoever they were, I did what they said.

"Okay," I announced as I stepped out of the elevator. "Which one of you idiots are responsible for paging me?"

All I got were dumb looks, mostly from people I had never even seen before.

"Come on, I'll kill you either way, so you might as well talk, cause then I might not kill your family too." Then someone raised their hand. It was Gandhi, looking weak, pathetic and horribly angry, sitting in a chair with Clarissa next to him. "And why'd you page me?" He looked away. "Room?" He pointed to a nearby room. "Seriously?" He stood up and walked away.

I felt like I had to keep talking; if I stopped this was all real. "So, Brittney, your hair's looking especially girly today," I informed him as I sat in the chair Gandhi had just vacated .

He either didn't hear me or was ignoring me, and although normally this would be a cause for celebration, I needed someone to talk to. "Did you hear me?"

The only sounds were the scuffing of shoes as people walked by and someone in the background yelling for a gurney.

"Jasmine..." I said quietly, addressing this to him but talking to myself. "What happened to Carla?"

He swiftly stood up and stormed away like his friend had done moments earlier, obviously trying not cry. I felt like I kicked a puppy. And then drowned it. And tortured it...

After a while I got tired of waiting outside her room, so I left, trying and failing to leave the pain and puppy sensation behind.

* * *

_out of surgery_

I could do a little dance I was so glad. I glanced around; no one was there. Oh, what the hell...

"...are you doing, this is a hospital, not a strip club!" I looked up from my dance to see the creator of that horrible analogy about my wonderful dancing.

"She's out of surgery!" I exclaimed, sounding like a little kid who got everything he wanted for his birthday, to my dismay.

"Who's out of surgery?" 'Dr.' Bob Kelso asked.

"Carla."

His face scrunched up as he pretended to concentrate. "That's not ringing any bells..."

"Really, cause you see her every day. And, even though it never stops shocking me, you are the cheif of medicine here. That makes me wonder: why aren't you the least bit worried that one of your nurses got shot right in front of this place?" I asked him, my semi-okay mood fading.

"Oh, you mean Nurse..." He seemed lost.

"Espinosa," I supplied. Just then the pager from hell beep-beeped.

_She's crashing rm201_

The Devil of Sacred heart was looking over my shoulder, reading the message. "Who's crashing?" I will kill you, Kelso!!

I don't remember punching him. I don't remember running down the hall and up the stairs.

The next thing I do remember is standing outside room 201, panting for air. I looked through the window on the door and didn't see Carla. I just saw an empty bed.

"Damn," I said quietly. I grabbed a conveniently located gurney and swung it against the wall. It bounced off and fell on its side, mostly unharmed, but I still felt a little better.

'Beep,' the pager said. I threw it, and it skidded across the floor. Barbie ran by, crying her eyes out.

"Barbie!" I yelled. She spun around.

"Oh god," she said at a tone barely higher than a whisper. "Oh my god." With that, she turned back around and threw herself into a room a few doors away which I am pretty sure is a maintenance closet.

The pager started beeping. The idea of hiding in a closet was getting more and more appealing. I picked up the pager and stopped myself from throwing it again when I saw the message.

_Room 210_

I heard the distinct beep of a flat-lining heart monitor from down the hall, and felt a weird sinking feeling in my chest.

When I looked in the room, they were pulling the thin, robin-blue sheet over her small and strangely unlifelike head.

Her dull and lifeless brown eyes were wide and open, but nobody bothered closing them.

Have I told you that I hate this place?

* * *

**Was this great? Okay? Horrible? Does it make you want to puke? Why don't you tell me in a review?**

**(And I apologise if I made anybody puke. Really, I do.)**


	4. My Moments

**Hi! I want to thank all my reviewers yet again. I wish you all ice-creams.**

**This next chapter is in Turk's POV.

* * *

**

There are many moments I'll never forget. Like the day I graduated from collage, my first day here, or my seventh birthday party when I discovered I was allergic to coconut and that I wanted to be a doctor. Most of these moments are spread out over time, but that day, in just twenty-four hours, many unforgettable things happened. None of them were the good kind of unforgettable, though.

Emergency surgery. Removing a bullet. Unstable patient.

That's a big thing for a resident, but I had been having a rather good day for surgery... my best, actually.

So, Dr. Wen asked me to do it.

"Hell yeah," I said.

"Then we've got to go now." We both ran towards the OR. I imagined it was in slow motion, like JD and I always practiced.

We got there, and we quickly prepared. "Where's the patient?" I asked, puzzled. The operating table was empty.

"She's almost here," he replied, and just at that moment, the doors burst open, and in came a nurse, pushing a gurney.

She pulled it over to us, put the patient on the table.

I looked down, saw the patient. From somewhere, Dr. Wen's voice was asking me what was wrong. We needed to get started right then. But the patient, she looked like Carla. Blood was on her face, her neck, but most of the blood was soaking the front of her scrubs. That'll stain, I thought.

Wait... Emergency surgery. Removing a bullet. Unstable patient. That was talking about... Carla?

It all sounded to real, so real it was fake. Stuff like this happens all the time. It doesn't happen to Carla.

"Chris? You okay?"

"That." My voice cracked; I had to stop. "That's my wife," I managed to whisper. That's one of those moments I'll never forget.

The nurse who brought the patient (not Carla, not Carla) in guided me out of the room and sat me down in a chair.

I guess she left.

Because at some point, she wasn't there, and I was sitting, listening to a steady beep. Normally, family members aren't aloud to wait as close to the room as I was, but no one had bothered taking me out any farther out of the area, so when that beep, that one I had started to recognize solely as a flat-lining monitor, started, I heard it.

I won't forget that moment because I didn't move.

It was Carla. I liked to think I was her superhero.

I know I made the right choice. Bursting in there, trying to help... I'd have just gotten in the way, in the state I was in. Part of me knew that then, too, but that doesn't stop the guilt. It never does.

That guilt wasn't too bad, though, because she was eventually stabilized.

The surgery went successfully.

They decided to move her to the ICU.

I ran with the gurney, trying not to look at it's occupant. When we burst out of the doors, I saw JD, standing around, trying to look occupied, but failing, mostly because he was crying his eyes out. I'll always remember that moment, too.

I decided leave to the patient, who I was still refusing to call Carla, for a little while. There was nothing I could do for her. I trotted over to where JD was standing and fingering an empty needle. It was huge, like the one we used to drain that woman's stomach fluid on our first day. Before he even saw me, I wrapped him up in a huge hug. He hugged back tightly and laid his head on my shoulder.

I bet we looked rather strange, standing, hugging in the middle of the hallway for as long as we did, with him holding that giant needle, but for once I honestly didn't care. I don't think I'll ever forget that moment or that feeling, either.

* * *

I don't know why, but JD paged Dr. Cox. Why would Cox care?

JD's fingers fumbled over the buttons. _out of surgery_, he typed.

I was sitting by the patient's, I mean Carla's, bed , clutching her hand firmly, stroking it with my thumb. With my other hand, I grasped my cross necklace. I thought about praying, but couldn't think of what to say. So I just pretended to pray.

Here goes another one of those darn moments: Elliot walked in with tears streaming down her face. She got one look at Carla and ran in the other direction.

And, just the very second she left, the patient went into cardiac arrest.

And, right then, JD wasn't JD. He was just her scared friend.

I wasn't her husband. I was her doctor.

Carla wasn't Carla. She was the patient.

I grabbed the paddles, her friend grabbed his pager.

I did the normal routine. For just that unforgettable moment, this was a patient who just happened to look like Carla. But, after a while, even the part of me that was still her husband knew it was to late.

I tossed the paddles down, down on the floor. They pulled the whole crash cart down with them.

This may seem weird, but at that moment, my mouth moved on it's own. "Time of death," it said, "Three P.M."

I covered my mouth. I didn't mean to say that.

I reached down, kissed her lightly on her forehead, and pulled her sheet up over her head.

Dr. Cox came in. He didn't even seem to notice me or JD. He just walked over to the window that overlooks the parking lot and sighed. With what looked like some effort, he dragged himself away from the window and left the room, kicking the doorframe as he left.

JD threw his pager across the room. We both collapsed on the floor at the same time, leaning against opposite walls.

I leaned my head back against my wall. Then, on impulse, I grabbed my cross necklace, the one I'd had since I was a kid, and ripped it off. I threw it across the room, just like JD did with his pager moments earlier. It skided to a stop in a patch of glittering sunlight.

And that is one more moment I will never be able to forget. Never.

* * *

**So... review please. **


	5. My Questioning

**Well, here it is, the next chapter in my story! As always, I want to thank reveiwers, readers, and random bystanders! We are now back to JD's perspective, so read and enjoy.**

* * *

There were police cars all over the parking lot. 'Do Not Enter' and 'Caution' tape was all around Carla's car.

Well, I guess it's just Turk's car now. I was sitting on the steps of Sacred Heart, pulling leaves and branches off the nearby bush.

I wondered if she left anything to me. Probably not. She wouldn't have, because she didn't think she was going to die so soon. Why would she?

The branch I was trying to remove was a little thorny, but that just made me pull harder on it.

Why couldn't things have gone the way everyone thought they would?

Why did someone have to shoot one of my best friends?

Did I actually think it would be a good day?

Who was sitting beside me?

"Hey, JD," they said, putting a hand on my knee. I looked up to see that it was Elliot. Her hair was tangled and her make-up was smudged. I wanted to look away from this anti-Elliot, but I couldn't.

"Hey, Smelliot." She smiled ever so slightly at my old nickname for her. "How you holding up?"

She looked down, staring at her hand that was still sitting on my knee. "O-okay," she stuttered.

I grabbed her hand, held it in mine, and she looked up, fresh tears forming in her eyes. "Same here," I said, hoping she understood.

With her free hand, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of tissue. She dabbed at her eyes.

"Excuse me," a female voice said, "My name is Officer Judy Greenfield. Are either of you John Dorian or Elliot Reid?"

"Yeah, that's us," Elliot replied, scrunching up her tissue. I squeezed her hand tighter.

"Would you be okay with you if I asked a few questions?" She had a little green notebook and a mini tape recorder sticking out of the pocket of her uniform.

"Sure," we said at the same time. We glanced at each other as she turned on her tape recorder and sat on the stairs beside Elliot.

She said some legal sounding gibberish into her recorder and then turned to us. "Were you there when Carla Espinosa was shot?"

What? My eyes started to blur suddenly, filling with tears. It sounded wrong when she said it like that. She can't just say it like that!

"Yeah." I sneak a peak at Elliot out of the corner of my eye. She was nowhere near as close to crying as I am.

Am I really that big of a girl?

"Did you see who shot her?" Officer Judy asked.

I grabbed Elliot's tissues from where she left them on her lap, dropping her hand in the process. "Not really," Elliot said.

"Are you sure you don't remember anything about him?" she asked, frowning.

Elliot shakes her head and tugs the tissues from my hand.

"Where exactly was he?" She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and stifles a yawn: it's just another day on the job for her. I'm angry, suddenly, but too tired, too overwhelmed, too scared, to do anything about it. I tried pulling the tissues away from Elliot, but she refused to let them go.

"He came from around the corner, and then stood over th-th-the" Her voice cracked, gave out on her, and then she was sobbing, crying louder than I thought possible. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming. I deposited the tissues on her lap, along with her hand.

She jumped up, the crumpled tissues rolled down the steps, and she ran out through the parking lot, getting into a nearby vehicle. She pushed down on the gas as hard as she could, and sped out of there, leaving tire marks all over the ground.

Is that even her car? I didn't think so, hers had that thing on the side... and a California license plate.

Oh well, who am I to say if she's from Idaho or not...?

Stop daydreaming and get back to reality!

I suddenly decided to go the same way as Elliot, but instead of risking charges for auto theft, I jumped onto my scooter, leaving the police officer looking confused on the steps.

She sighed, putting her head in her hands. Her look said, 'You're not making this any easier!"

'Well,' I silently replied as Sasha and I turned out of the parking lot, 'Maybe I don't want to make things any easier.'

* * *

When I finally got home, bits of sunlight were already starting to creep over the horizon. I didn't mean to take the long way (really, really long way) home, but it just seemed to happen on its own. I lied down on my bed without changing out of my scrubs or washing up or anything. I fidgeted with the blanket, feeling too hot and too cold at the same time, yet unwilling to get up to turn on the heat or air conditioner. I eventually just rolled up my sleeves.

The pillows were stacked up too high, so I removed some of them and flung them across the room. The blanket was too heavy, so I just pulled the sheet over myself. My feet felt weird, so I took off my shoes.

There was still something wrong, though... ah-ha, it's the light! Luckily the blinds were closed, so all I had to do was flip off the switch by hurtling a heavy object in its direction, a technique I have always found extremely effective.

I chose a book, a thick medical text, and I was soon in a relatively dark room.

I curled up on my side, preparing to get some much needed sleep.

It didn't come. At first, I thought I might be asleep, dreaming this whole time, that would explain the whole Carla incident, after all. Suddenly, it was all so clear, I almost laugh. I've always had trouble discerning fantasies and dreams from reality, so, this whole Carla thing must be a dream I'm remembering! It's so simple!

I rolled back onto my side and tried to go to sleep again, with that whole big weight off my mind.

A few hours later, I'm still staring at the ceiling. I usually don't have this much trouble tricking myself, but then it was never for something this big, either.

I thought back to the last time I had to trick myself into believing something, just so I could sleep at night, eat at meals, and not throw up all over random passerby. It would probably make sense to the casual observer that the last time I would do this would have been about a year ago, when Dad died, right?

No, it was before that, all the way back in high school. Mom had decided to transform her life, and apparently that meant paying less attention to her kids than before. I was basically cool with that, at least until the day I realized to just what extent that went.

I had a cat, Berries. He disappeared one day, just vanished into the blue. Mom didn't even care.

I know this is a strange complaint; she cared about my grades, my life, all the things moms care about, all the things that mattered in the grand scheme of things, but she didn't care about Berries going missing. I may seem selfish, but... oh, what the hell, I am selfish. But I just wonder... why do people never pick up on the things that matter most?

I'm not saying anything that happened after that wasn't as bad, my dad dying definitely ranks highest, but at least that time I had someone else. Dan. Turk. Dr. Cox. Elliot. Carla.

Who do I have now? I can automatically cross Carla off the list, that's an unfortunate no-brainer, but it took a little longer to cross out Turk. He's my Chocolate Bear, always has been, always will be, right? Well, lets say, just for fun, that Carla is— was— his wife.

An imaginary 'X' slid itself over the letters 'SCB' in my imagined list.

Elliot: Carla's best friend, just as close to her as me, but whiny and easily upset by nature. The 'X' hovered above Dr. Reid.

Dr. Cox: he knew her longer than any of us, and she was one of his closest friends, so, no. Anyways, I thought, cringing, that'd almost be like asking the janitor for help. 'X' over Perry.

Janitor: No 'X' for him— no, he gets scribbled out completely, whilst ominous music played in the background, courtesy of my over active imagination.

Then, I was suddenly thinking back to my original list, wondering why I even bothered including Dan. He was more of a nuisance than a help. A lot more. But maybe this time... against all my better judgment, a checkmark slid into place next to 'the Daninator'.

Dan it.

**Once again, my chapter seems to have taken a life of its own, cause this is pretty different than what I was going to write when I started it. Here's hoping it works!**


	6. My Shocking Shock

**Hello, once again. I'm so glad people reviewed, it's really nice, so thank you!**

**:-) This chapter is a little random, and it's about Elliot...**

**_Enjoy_**

* * *

I don't know what came over me," I told the dog. "I just, you know, ran into the first car I saw."

The dog, Fizzles according to its dog tag, cocked its head to the side.

"I promise to take you back to your owners soon."

He tilted his head even more. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was trying to twist it off. I reached out and scratched him behind the ears. "Good dog, Fizzles." I glanced out of my window, down to the parking lot where the stolen car was parked. "But, I did have a fairly good reason."

He barked loudly.

"Shhh, Fizzy, I'm not even allowed to have pets up here!" Unfortunately, this came out as a yell. "Frick," I whispered.

Fizzles smiled and climbed onto the couch next me.

"Anyway," I said, "I had a perfectly good reason for taking your car."

He laid his head on my lap and groaned. I took this as a sign to continue. "I had been having a fairly shitty day."

He looked up at me with blue-green eyes and yawned.

"Okay, that's a lie. It was really my worst day ever. A bunch of my patients decide today was the day to throw up on the doctor. I nearly broke my ankle getting into your car. And-"

The doggy yawned again, cutting me off. I let out a silent sigh of relief that I wouldn't be able to finish that sentence.

Not that I would have if he hadn't yawned.

Not that it matters. He's a frickin' dog!

I nudged his head off my lap. He groaned in protest. I pushed him off the couch. He started barking at something, but then he lost interest and fell asleep.

I rolled onto my side onto the sofa and stretched out my legs. I reached down and scratched Fizzles' head. "You know what's strange?" I asked the sleeping dog. "It's been one of the most tiring days of my life, but I'm-" I paused to yawn. "-not even tired."

Fizzles made a weird barking noise without opening his mouth, and his legs began to twitch. A sure sign I'm being ignored.

I got up, rubbing my head. I went into the kitchen and started the coffee maker.

I wouldn't have been able to go to sleep tonight, anyway. Not with the stolen dog in the house and the stolen car in the parking lot.

Not with Carla stolen, too.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep despite the multitudes coffee I consumed, because I woke up. Or, rather, the dog woke me up. It's a rather jarring thing to be awakened by a canine's piercing barks, isn't it?

The second thing I noticed after the barking was the alarm, the dreaded alarm, the alarm that goes off every day, forcing me to get up and face whatever fate throws my way.

Fate and my alarm must really have it in for me.

I jumped up, unable to stand the alarm's screeches any longer. I stopped in the closet on my way to the bedroom and grabbed my hammer. It's metal handle felt good; it felt powerful. I threw open my bedroom door violently and headed towards my dresser, with the alarm sitting on it.

I swung the hammer as hard as I possible could- and missed. It made a huge hole in the dresser. Frick.

I gingerly placed the hammer beside the hole it just made, and put the alarm onto the floor. Then, I grabbed the hammer again. Commence alarm clock murder.

I swung again, feeling the hammer connect with the plastic, and hearing the 'CRUNCH' that told me the same thing. Then I swung again. And again. The plastic was now in shards across the floor, but the insides were still one big chunk.

Still sticking with my unspoken promise to beat that alarm clock until it turned into dust, I pounded it again.

This must seem like a relatively harmless way to get rid of pent up anger and frustration, right? Wrong, wrong, and wrong again.

The next swing was the hardest yet. It broke right through that clock. Yay me!

I think that was actually the problem, you see, because I remember feeling this weird and extremely painful sensation, and seeing a bluish flash of light.

I got electrocuted.

* * *

"Hey, you're not going to believe this," someone said. I wasn't sure who; his voice was kind of fuzzy. And I couldn't see, or maybe it was very dark.

"What?" another, slightly more familiar voice asked.

"She got electrocuted. By her alarm clock."

"Seriously?" The voice sounded shocked. Ha ha, _shocked, _get it?

I opened my eyes without even realizing they were ever closed. Suddenly, someone was in my face with a flashlight, replacing the darkness with an overwhelming light. I tried to lift my hands to protect myself against this onslaught of brightness, but they felt very heavy. By the time I finally covered my eyes, the light was gone.

When I was sure it was safe, I removed my hands. I was in the hospital. Frick. Stupid alarm clock, this is all your fault!

"Elliot, can you hear me?" some random doctor person asked me.

"Yeah, I can, and I'm fine." I sat up, knocking the doctor away in the process.

When he was out of my face, I saw that the janitor was also in the room, holding a dog. Wait, not a dog. The dog. Fizzles, the one I stole with the car.

"How come the dog is allowed in here?" I asked.

"Would you like him to leave?" the annoying doctor asked.

"He's a licensed therapy dog," Janitor said, ignoring the doctor. "Aren't you, Fizzles?" He scratched the dog's head.

"You mean... that's your dog?"

"Yeah. I found him at a dog park. It was my car, too."

"Sorry about that," I told him. "You know, with Carla and-"

Somehow, I couldn't continue, just like what happened when I was talking to that cop.

I guess grief is strange like that. It can sneak up on you. I wasn't even thinking about Carla, and then, bang, I can't think about anything else. It was shocking, no pun intended.

I pulled the blankets covering me down, and jumped out of the bed. I ran out of the room, leaving a startled dog, doctor, and janitor behind. I sprinted down the hallway, turned around a corner, and flew out of the emergency exit.

The cold air was startling on my bare arms and legs. I hadn't even realized I was wearing a hospital gown, but I was. "Frick," I whispered. "Frick, fricky, frick!"

I raced over to the parking lot, ignoring any weird looks I got for my clothing.

At least this time I got the right car.

* * *

JD gave me some of Turk's clothes to wear, because Turk had locked himself in JD's room and was refusing to come out.

JD seemed even more lost and daydreamy than usual. In fact, he had only spoken twice since I had gotten there. The first thing he had said was "Hi." Then, "Do you want some cake?"

"No, I don't think I could eat anything."

JD shrugged and went into the kitchen, coming out a moment later with a humongous slice of cake. Then he said the second thing: "I called Dan."

"Oh. What did he say?"

JD took a bite of the cake that was large enough to be it's own slice. He shook his head.

"Oh," I said, even though I wasn't sure what that meant. I wonder if Dan was going to show up sometime, then. Meanwhile, JD had finished his cake in record time, and was going back for seconds.

While he was getting it, the doorbell rang. JD balanced his full plate with one hand, and opened the door with the other. Outside stood Dan, holding a giant package under his arm.

"I brought pie," he said. "Cake was getting old."

* * *

**Reviews are welcomed with a party! And cake!**


End file.
